Mingling with Misery
by CheshireLion
Summary: We all love differently and we experience it differently from one love to the next. But we can all agree that there are recurring situations...how we cope and how we carry on is a testament to learning.


Something that popped up while I was listening to gregorian chants. Yah, I'm not finishing my other story. Sorry! I just don't feel committed to it. Can't promise anything with thise one either, although little ideas might be popping up here and there.

* * *

_One._

Gingerly, the girl in the white summer dress stepped toe first into the tulip field, careful not to tread on the beautiful petals, upheld by the strong stems with roots firmly planted into the rolling hill.

_Two._

The hem of her dress whispered among the tops of the flowers, slowly dragging across each one as if reluctant to leave the sweet scent behind.

_Three._

She lifted her face to the endless sky, almost blindingly blue and devoid of even the slightest wisp of fluffy, white cloud. Slowly, the corners of her mouth lifted into a content smile; she was the only sign of human amongst the stretch of green, dotted with yellow, pink, and red.

She couldn't help but giggle as a cool breeze swept her hair out of her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled the intoxicating scent of the open air. She started to spin, faster and faster, her eyes closed and arms wide open, stretched as if welcoming the breeze to pick her up and carry her all through out the everlasting fields like the dandelions dancing around her, tangling in her hair and tickling her shins; her arms; her neck; any spot where the dress left her skin bare.

And as dizziness overcame, she fell back onto the flowers, abandoning all care for their heads. She then fell into a deep sleep, barren of any dreams.

* * *

"One…"

A nurse helped the patient she had been assigned to cross the immaculate white tiles of the hospital room, step by small step, her arms practically carrying the slight weight of the young girl.

"Two…"

This girl was sweating with a determination to put one foot in front of the other. But, the nurse noticed, this determination seemed almost a habit. It had to be, because the girl's face was distant, her eyes glazed over and in a place far away from where she was learning to walk all over again.

"Three…"

Then she seemed to sway, first to the left, then to the right. Her hair, once abundant and thick, fell down her shoulders in dry strands, down her arms and legs, where the hospital gown did not cover. And she fell into the nurses arms, a high pitched giggle escaping her mouth. And she slept. She slept as she usually did, deeply and with a trace of smile gracing her once pink lips.

* * *

Severus Snape read over the latest update sent by St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. It was handwritten, in a hurried scrawl, the bottom hastily signed by one "Ginevra Potter".

_Professor Severus Snape,_ it read.

_It's an improvement, however miniscule. But she has taken three steps, thereafter falling into her normal comatose state._

Severus closed his eyes and put the letter down momentarily. He found it best to read these updates bit by bit, as it was easy to become overwhelmed with hope.

And hope he dare not. For he knew where hope led to, if not to the fulfillment of desire. He had hoped in the past…

Oh yes, he hoped fervently and desperately, only to be met with despair and excruciating pain.

He picked up the letter again, the thin stationary trembling in his pale hands.

_I must tell you…there was emotion. It was not mirrored by her eyes, as we have seen in the past, but it was a laugh. You must agree that this is an improvement. Do not deny this._

He frowned at the direct order placed by his former student.

_In any case, Professor…I feel that this must have been the result of your potioneering. You may feel as if you don't have any moral obligation whatsoever to help my dear friend but I beg of you, please find it in your heart to continue. While I may have nothing to offer you, I implore you_ _to think of Harry. How distraught he has been these passing months. How unhappy we all have been to see our friend in this state. Once vivacious_ _and full of purpose only to be trapped in her own mind at the peak of her life. _

_For Lily, Professor. If no one else, do it for the woman you once loved as we do Hermione._

_Sincerely etc.,_

_Ginevera Potter_

He stood up with a scrape of his chair, letting the paper fall from his fingertips and back onto the wooden desk.

The audacity of this woman…this…this conniving witch. How dare she use that name against her? Had she known his true character, she would know that the tactic would not work. No… not as it once did when both of his masters manipulated his life with a mere mention of his former love.

Severus walked to his nightstand, opening the small, top drawer and lifting out of it a small white handkerchief. He held it to his face, his eyes closed and taking in the scent that lingered. He pictured her smiling face, the secretive smiles in the middle of class, the brushing of fingers, the elegant curve of her neck as she leaned back into his chest. His hands itched touch her soft cheek and hold her to himself and protect her as he had not been able to before she met her fate.

He dropped to his knees, as he distantly heard what sounded like a sob. It wasn't until he saw the wet spots hit the dusty floorboards and felt, rather than heard, the moans escape his body. He was the very portrait of grief; his shoulders hunched, hands clasping the white cloth to his chest.

No one to share his monstrous sorrow with, for their love was kept secret. He could not speak of his misery as the black curtain of desolation drew over his life once more.

A corner of the dainty handkerchief peeked out of his clenched fists. The initials read "H.G." in elegant red stitches.

The name tore through his throat in a terrible, anguish-soaked cry.

"Hermione!"

For her sorry state between near-wake and thorough, coma-like sleep was far worse than Lily's quick and painless death. For his love had grown from watching Hermione do the same – from a wiry, frizz-topped girl to a beautiful, quick-witted woman. She was the epitome of beauty whereas Lily was a mere portrayal.

Severus took in one last, shuddering, gasping breath and composed himself as best as he could. He stood, stock still and allowing himself to gain control of his breathing.

One…

Two…

Three.


End file.
